


will they know what you overcame (will they know you rewrote the game)

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [43]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, American Politics, Brief defamatory language because Thomas Jefferson, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, One ends up with a broken nose, President Hamilton, The original Founding Fathers meet their reincarnations, Time Travel, Two Jeffersons walk into a room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 01:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10150352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Alexander's reaction was as unique as the man himself. He downright beamed. "Did you just punch yourself?" he asked Thomas, then, not giving Thomas a chance to reply, went on, "Because you haveno ideahow long I've been wanting to do that.""Youdidtell me," Thomas reminded him. "Repeatedly."In which Thomas Jenkins meets Thomas Jefferson, James Morrow is a highly-sought-after individual, Teddy Roosevelt is in Britain, and people forget that Twitter isn't, in fact, their private chat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's actually scary how many of you wanted a Thomas vs Jefferson confrontation. Here you go.

_To: Dolley Prince_  
You'll never guess what happened today.

 _From: Dolley Prince_  
From anyone else, I would accept that challenge, but I KNOW what kind of crazy shit happens at the White House.  
Knowing you, it could be anything from raining frogs to alternate universes.

 _To: Dolley Prince_  
I hate you sometimes.

 _From: Dolley Prince_  
No you don't. You need someone to vent.  
So which is it? Raining frogs or alternate universes?

 _To: Dolley Prince_  
Don't you think you'd have heard by now if amphibians were falling from the sky?  
That would be easier to deal with, too.

 _From: Dolley Prince_  
You're always free to join our firefighter squad, we are a man down.

 _To: Dolley Prince_  
And leave Alexander to his own devices? Thank you but I'll take a raincheck.  
Imagine the damage he could cause.

 _From: Dolley Prince  
_ I am. That's why I'm offering you to join the cleanup effort.

 _To: Dolley Prince_  
I'm better at preventing disasters than cleaning up after them. Proactive rather than reactive, and all that.

* * *

 _From: petit lion_  
donc, nous pourrions avoir un peu d'un problème  
code T

 _To: petit lion_  
we made up code T while we were drunk  
c pas vrai

 _From: petit lion  
_ it is now

 _To: petit lion  
_ ça défie toutes les loi de la physique connue de l'homme

 _From: petit lion_  
pas CHAQUE  
we only had to rewrite some

 _To: petit lion_  
by 'we' I assume you mean you and SecEn

 _From: petit lion_  
point is, we have ten additional guests in the west wing  
don't be surprised  
also, jefferson is being an ass  
how you were friends w/ him is beyond even my understanding

 _To: petit lion_  
es-tu jaloux

 _From: petit lion_  
piss off

 _To: petit lion_  
anyway, gtg, meeting w/ PM

 _From: petit lion_  
bonne chance

 _To: petit lion_  
I don't need luck

 _From: petit lion_  
bonne succès, then

 _To: petit lion_  
a tt

 _From: petit lion_  
jtm  
wtf what is jenkins doing here

* * *

"Why are you here?" Alexander said, putting down his phone. He squinted at Thomas, trying – and failing spectacularly – to look menacing.

"I needed to talk to James," Thomas said succinctly.

Alexander arched an eyebrow. "There are these marvelous inventions called cellphones these days," he drawled. "Wonderful piece of technology. Does wonders for long-distance communication, I hear."

"Drop the sarcasm, Hamilton," Thomas retorted. "He's not answering my calls."

"Has he finally come to his senses, then?”

"I doubt it," Thomas shot back. “He's still socializing with _you_ , after all."

"Oh, _please_ ," Alexander snorted. "I'm a delight to be around."

"That depends on your definition of delightful. If you like an incessant buzzing in your ear, then sure, you're good company."

“Who even let you in, come to think of it?” Alexander muttered, most of his brain already focused on the search for coffee.

Thomas smirked. “Apparently, my name opens numerous doors – including the door to the West Wing.”

Alexander bit his lip. “That's a terrible security breach. Now, if you will excuse me,” he pushed his way past Thomas and towards the location of the coffee machine. “I need coffee.”

Thomas watched him put in a new pot of coffee, his eyes half-closed. This was usually Lafayette's job, if for no reason other than that he got up before Alexander, but Lafayette was still woefully absent and would remain so for the remainder of the week at best. Alexander drummed his fingers against the tabletop as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, then poured himself a generous cup. He hissed as the hot liquid scalded his lips but swallowed it in one go, then refilled his cup under Thomas' disapproving stare.

He wordlessly offered the pot to Thomas, who shook his head. Alexander snorted. “Suit yourself,” he replied offhandedly, finishing off the second cup before pouring himself a third serving.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that it's–“

A commotion cut off the words on Thomas' tongue. Both men turned in the direction of the sound. Alexander snickered when he identified the source of the noise – Washington had tumbled onto the floor and was staring at a bookshelf as though it had personally offended him. If Alexander had to make a guess, Washington had woken up and wanted to come to the kitchen but had failed to notice the small bookshelf framing the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, which resulted in him crashing into said furniture.

Washington stared at the bookshelf owlishly for a moment before seeming to dismiss it. He stood up. “May I partake in what I assume is coffee?” he asked politely, indicating the still half-filled pot of coffee with his left hand.

Alexander shrugged. “Knock yourself out,” he invited.

Washington frowned. “I fail to see how rendering myself unconscious would aid m–“

Alexander stifled a smile. “Just– go ahead, sir,” he amended.

The others must have either been awake already or had been awoken by the noise because within five minutes, the kitchen became packed with people.

Opening his chat with his closest cabinet members, Alexander informed them of that fact, then sent off a separate text to James and ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to please talk to Thomas because he was in his _kitchen, dammit_. That done, he turned to Thomas. “Don't you have somewhere else you need to be? _Anywhere_?”

Thomas sniffed. “I've only got one meeting with a client today, and it's in the afternoon. I really _do_ need to talk to James,” he reiterated.

Hamilton squinted at Thomas over his coffee — his second cup already, Thomas noted with dismay; some things never changed, it seemed. “Who are you?” Hamilton asked suspiciously.

“The bane of my existence,” Alexander replied immediately, sounding like he was rattling off a much-practiced line.

Hamilton was quiet for a moment. “I see,” he said eventually, uncharacteristically cryptic.

“God, are you always this cryptic?” Jefferson groaned.

Mrs Hamilton frowned. “Mr. Jefferson, kindly do not take the Lord's name in vain,” she reprimanded.

“Pardon me, Mrs Hamilton,” Jefferson replied automatically, sounding genuinely sorry, though whether it was because he regretted swearing or upsetting Hamilton's wife, Alexander couldn't tell. He turned back to Hamilton. “You are the most infuriating man I have ever met.”

“I do try,” Hamilton smirked.

Thomas glanced at Alexander, exasperation in his eyes. “I am not going to bother pretending that I don't know who these people are – it would be an insult to both of our intelligences – but how did this,” he gestured at the ten people sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the chairs around them, “happen? People do not usually time travel just like that,” he snapped his fingers.

“James already told you,” Alexander replied somewhat evasively. “ _I know for a fact_ that he told you. NSA,” he elaborated in response to Thomas' raised eyebrow, as though the name itself was self-explanatory.

“That is creepy,” Thomas commented decisively.

“Yeah,” Alexander shrugged. “Would it be less creepy if I told you that I just broke into his phone while he was distracted by Moniz?”

“That— doesn't actually make it less invasive, but it _is_ less creepy,” Thomas conceded.

“Will anyone tell me who this man is?” Jefferson demanded.

“Nope, sorry,” Alexander informed him cheerfully. “It's much more fun this way.”

“You are cruel,” Thomas said idly.

Alexander's responding smile was sharp. “I don't see _you_ revealing your identity either,” he pointed out. “You are really in no place to be throwing stones, and not only because Secret Service would have your head.”

“I'd like to think that the Secret Service would _thank_ me for knocking some sense into you,” Thomas taunted. He looked around, only then realizing why it was so quiet. “I thought that James said that you had paid cooks,” he said, the sentence neither a question nor a statement, yet serving as both.

Alexander shrugged. “Technically, yes, I do, but they don't cook breakfast.”

“Why not?” Thomas wanted to know.

“Well, _my_ breakfast begins and ends with coffee, so there is no reason for them to prepare breakfast for me, and out of some misguided notion that I have not yet been able to correct, people believe that Lafayette knows his way around the kitchen. Totally unsubstantiated, by the way,” he added, spreading out his fingers for emphasis.

“It's really not,” Angelica said into his ear from behind him.

Alexander jumped, then, amidst the giggles that ensued, turned to glare at Angelica. “Don't do that,” he barked, although Angelica had a hard time taking him seriously after seeing him literally jump out of his skin. Even Aaron, who had entered alongside Angelica, hid a smile behind his palm.

Angelica smiled blandly. “Our dear marquis actually makes this  _delicious_ pasta carbonara,” she went on, blatantly ignoring Alexander.

Jefferson turned towards Angelica. “Milady,” he began politely, “will you be so kind as to inform us of the identity of this man?” he pointed at Thomas.

Angelica stared at Jefferson, a smirk playing on her lips. “I don't think I can, Mr Jefferson,” she shot him down. “If he hasn't seen fit to inform you himself, then I would be a terrible person to so flippantly reveal his secrets to virtual strangers.”

Jefferson's eyes narrowed into slits. “Judging by the fact that all of you seem to be well-acquainted with one another,” he began slowly but surely, “and adding into consideration the fact that every person you both seem to share such a bond with is a person from your past life – meaning our current life – there is only a limited number of people you could be,” he pierced Thomas with a startlingly calculating look. “Of course, this number of people is greatly limited, as we are obviously looking for a person acquainted with both Hamilton and Angelica Church, a person who is adequately inferior to my person as to be reborn as a negro. It is my belief that you must have either been one of Hamilton's companions from the war, or one of his fellow Federalists. Their way of thinking is as faulty as anything I have ever seen, so it stands to reason that the punishment for such a sin against God–“

“You don't even fucking _believe in God_ , Jefferson,” Alexander interrupted with exasperation.

“–would be to be reborn as a slave,” Jefferson concluded, having, since first meeting Hamilton, mastered the ability to ignore interruptions, “or, failing that, an obviously inferior citizen.”

Thomas smiled cordially. He turned around, then, with a speed that astounded even him, swirled on his heels and punched Jefferson in the nose. There was a resounding crack, and Jefferson stumbled back, pressing a hand to his nose, his face twisted in obvious pain.

Silence reigned as everyone, as one, stared at Thomas, who was sneering at Jefferson. " _You disgust me_ ," he spat at Jefferson, unknowingly echoing Angelica's words from so long ago, spoken to a man not so dissimilar from Jefferson and yet as different as day and night. "I've understood why people have contended that I wasn't a good man, but to experience it firsthand…" he trailed off uncertainly, not knowing what else to say. Then again, silence spoke volumes.

"You assaulted me," Jefferson hissed, his hazel-blue eyes flashing in anger. He took a step towards Thomas, towering over the other man. He expected Thomas to flinch away, but Thomas firmly stood his ground. Taken aback, Jefferson continued his rant a little shakily. "I will have your hand for that. Nay, I will have your _life_."

Angelica snorted. "Not happening," she firmly refuted the bleeding man. "This guy here isn't a slave, which means that you can't have his life. Nor do we use either limb amputation or the death penalty as the punishment for physical assault that hasn't seriously wounded the victim. Sorry, but at the most, you could bring him up on physical assault – except wait, you can't really do that either, seeing as you're not a registered denizen of this country. I'm afraid that there is simply nothing you can do. Sorry, Jefferson," Angelica smirked like only Angelica could. It was evident in her tone that she was anything _but_ sorry. "Am I right, Attorney General Bartow?"

Aaron nodded solemnly, although Alexander, who prided himself on being able to see right through his apathetic facades, could discern an amused twinkle in his eyes. "My condolences, _Secretary_ Jefferson," he said, putting emphasis on Jefferson's title, which he knew well from experience was a sore point for Jefferson; to be reminded of the fact that he was of the same rank as Hamilton, his archnemesis and an immigrant, was nothing short of insulting – at times bordering on mortifying.

Alexander's reaction was as unique as the man himself. He downright _beamed_ . "Did you just punch yourself?" he asked Thomas, then, not giving Thomas a chance to reply, went on, "Because you have _no idea_ how long I've been wanting to do that."

"You _did_ tell me," Thomas reminded him. "Repeatedly. During the laser tag," he elaborated when Alexander showed no signs of remembering.

"It clearly is something worth repeating," Alexander waved him off.

“I demand to know your identity,” Jefferson snarled, pressing his hand against his nose in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

“What, so that you'll do you uttermost to discredit him?” Alexander scoffed. “Good luck with that. Actually, on second thoughts, do feel free to discredit his former self. You will do us all a huge favour.”

Thomas glared. Alexander raised his hands in a defensive manner. “Just saying what everyone else was thinking. Don't shoot the messenger.”

“Need I remind you of the last time you 'voiced an opinion widely held'?” Angelica's crystal-clear voice cut in. “I have but two words: John Adams.”

“Point taken,” Alexander admitted. He turned to Thomas with a wide grin. “You know,” he began, “I feel like this might be the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Dream on, Hamilton," Thomas scoffed. "I could never be friends with a person whose opinions are as shitty as yours," he responded, although there was unusually little bite behind his words.

Alexander smirked. " _That's_ the Thomas Jenkins I know – still an asshole."

"Just not a racist one."

Behind them, Jefferson gasped, followed by the other eight people who had hitherto not made the connection between Thomas and Jefferson. “I refuse to believe it,” Jefferson snarled.

“Then don't,” Angelica said. “It would actually be immensely helpful if you didn't,” she smiled viciously.

“You,” Jefferson pointed at Thomas, “ _cannot_ be me.”

“No,” Thomas agreed. “I am not you. For one, I am not a racist. Furthermore, I am not a slaver, nor do I claim ownership over people, and I certainly do not rape them,” he said, proud of how little his voice shook at the end of his announcement.

As one, all heads turned to Jefferson, who flushed with embarrassment. “You did _what_ ,” Lafayette hissed. “Thomas, you know that I hold you dear to my heart, but that is quite beyond what I deem appropriate, and I am sure that everyone else here would agree.”

Mulligan, Laurens, and Washington nodded. Burr remained still, his face carefully neutral, but by his standards, even he looked shocked.

Madison, on the other hand, along with Hamilton and his wife and sister-in-law, did not look surprised in the least.

Lafayette narrowed his eyes at Hamilton. “Did you know?” he demanded.

To everyone's surprise, it was Church who answered. “Paris is the city of gossip, and the rumour mill runs rampant,” she explained in a way that actually said very little. “Nary a secret remains hidden. I am astonished that you have not heard talk of this particular rumour yourself,” she noted.

“Indeed, I have not,” Lafayette replied. “And I am glad that it is so, for I now realize that it would have been cruel to discover a matter as delicate as this in this manner. Mind, this does not mean that you are off the hook,” he threw a withering glare in Hamilton's direction, which caused Hamilton to squirm in his seat, “but I do not believe the fault lies wholly with you this time,” he turned his glare towards Jefferson.

An awkward silence ensued, during which Jefferson was avoiding everyone's scrutinizing eyes, instead trying to stop the bleeding while avoiding getting his expensive clothes bloodied, while Alexander's cabinet and Thomas watched the time travelers with idle curiosity.

Aaron finally took pity on Jefferson and handed him a towel to stem the flood of the blood from his nose. Jefferson did not offer a thank you, instead turning to Thomas. He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to again insult Thomas' being and identity, but was cut off by the sound of a trumpet playing the first notes of the Imperial March.

Alexander rolled his eyes as he took out his phone. He looked at the display and froze, staring at his phone in silence.

_Daddy's calling._

Angelica leaned over his shoulder. She let out a snort when she read the name. “Neat,” she remarked.

“I haven't– I didn't–“ Alexander sputtered. He swore as he remembered something. “I will kill Drawwood. Actually _honest-to-God_ murder her.”

Aaron tsked disapprovingly at that. “I highly doubt that you would be able to find another Treasury Secretary so dedicated to their job, short of hiring yourself. And no,” he lifted his finger before Alexander could speak, “this is not any sort of permission to hire yourself, nor to experiment with interdimensional portals in order to find an alternate version of yourself.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “You take away all my fun.”

“I keep you out of jail,” Aaron shot back, “thereby enabling you to even have fun in the first place. I am entitled to be able to take away your fun.”

“Well?” Angelica reminded Alexander, indicating the ringing phone. “Aren't you going to pick it up?”

Alexander grumbled but complied. “Hi, dad! What? No, nothing's wrong. You know us,” he chuckled, “business as usual. I think you'd have heard if it wasn't. Do I–? Yes, I do. Well, I do on Sunday, if you feel like it. Yeah. Of course. I think that could be– sure.”

Laurens knocked his fingers rhythmically against the table with a look of boredom on his face. Angelica could sympathize. Watching Alexander talk to his father was roughly as exciting as watching paint debate global warming.

On second thoughts, Angelica reconsidered, paint sentient enough to be garrulous and intelligent enough to grasp the concept of the environmental consequences of increased temperature would be an improvement.

Aaron watched Alexander silently. “Washington 1, Hamilton 0,” he said quietly so that only Angelica heard.

The Press Secretary gave him an odd look. “Do my ears deceive me, or have you finally grown a sense of humour?” she retorted, to which Aaron rolled his eyes.

“You have heard me joke before,” he reminded her. “Don't act so surprised now.”

Angelica smiled lazily. She then addressed the ten people watching their conversation with no small amount of confusion. "Has Alexander showed you how to make—" she stopped, then sighed. "What am I saying? This is Alexander. _Of course_ he hasn't." To the relief of the time travellers, Angelica then guided them through using a toaster as well as Alexander's oven.

Midway through Alexander's conversation with George, the door opened and admitted James, Drawwood trailing behind him.

Thomas jumped up, crossing the space between the table and James in three quick steps. “I need to talk to you,” he said urgently.

James raised an eyebrow. “I couldn't tell,” he said sarcastically.

“Why didn't you answer your phone?” Thomas demanded.

Alexander, to, watched the scenes before him, having managed to quickly wrap up his own conversation with his father.

“Because, while you are my friend, Thomas,” James said calmly, “I will not put your needs above the security of this nation. There was a crisis that needed my urgent attention. I am here now. What is it?”

Thomas looked behind him, and realized that he and James had attracted the attention of the entire room. He shook his head. “Not here,” he hissed, then, without further ado, dragged James into one of the bedrooms, ignoring Alexander's shouts of “Kinky!”.

Drawwood didn't bother hiding a grin as she sat down in the spot that Thomas had just vacated. She leaned back in her chair, causing the furniture to squeak as she reached for a coffee cup behind her. She then grabbed the coffee pot – by now twice refilled – and unabashedly invited herself to the rest of the hot liquid. She hummed in approval, even though the coffee was a few degrees below the optimal temperature for coffee, then seemed to notice that everyone's eyes had moved on from Thomas and had instead fallen on her.

“So,” she spoke cheerfully, “what did I miss?”

* * *

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
Just met Teddy Roosevelt #starstruck

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
He was dressed up as Abraham Lincoln and I'm dYING. Too precious for this world.  
_[Picture attached]_

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@FrenchBaguette THIS. This is why you're not allowed to go to the UK alone. I want to meet Teddy Roosevelt too.

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@FrenchBaguette Especially one dressed up as Abe Lincoln.

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
@AdotHam You know you can invite him to the States, right? He would hardly refuse, especially since he'd get to meet YOU.

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
@AdotHam He's as much your fanboy as you are his. He kept going on and on how you're his favorite Founding Father and how (1/2)

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
@AdotHam impressed he was by the fact that you had written 26 books, even though he had written ten more. (2/2)

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@FrenchBaguette I can totally write over 35 books in one lifetime #TeddyRoosevelt #lifegoals

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
@AdotHam Nobody doubts that, but, speaking for the entire country, I ask you to try that AFTER your presidency.  
_298 309 reblogs_

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
@AdotHam @JemmyMorrow Aaaaaand there's our buzzkill.

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@FrenchBaguette To be fair, @JemmyMorrow has to deal with a hundred senators every day.

 _Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette_ @FrenchBaguette  
@AdotHam I know! Politicians, right?

* * *

 _Trending right now:_  
#blacklivesmatter  
#kittens  
#tfp  
#johnlock  
#bringback2k16  
#gaypocalypse  
#drunkhistory  
#presidenthamilton  
#snowmageddon  
#why2k17isbetterthan2k16

* * *

“We have been outdone by Sherlock's fourth season,” Alexander announced as he entered the Cabinet Room, for once early to the meeting. He was tapping something on his phone with one hand, the other holding a dossier of papers. “We're officially less cool than a TV show.”

James rolled his eyes, taking the time to sort through his papers even though he already knew that they were in perfect order. “How very tragic for us. Does that mean that we'll actually be working now instead of focusing on our insane fan base?” he asked rhetorically.

“Who says that we can't do both?” Angelica retorted. “Besides, it's not your job to keep track of Alexander's army of minions. It's mine. I am responsible for that mess.”

“I do not envy your job,” James groaned. “I only need to babysit Alexander–“

“Hey!” Alexander exclaimed, outrage evident in his voice.

“–but you need to do the same to an entire nation,” James went on.

Angelica scoffed. “As if,” she murmured. “I have an intern for that.”

Aaron blinked up from where he had been quietly skimming through Secretary Moniz's drafted proposal for renewed energy, to be made into a bill if the cabinet agreed to support it. He had highlighted several important passages, as well as numerous points which he would question Moniz on during the meeting. “You have an intern for the Hamilton fandom,” he repeated, not entirely sure if he had heard it right the first time.

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to go through whatever crazy theories the fans have cooked up this week? There isn't enough time in a day for me to manage that in addition to doing my actual job – as in, keeping track and staying three steps ahead of the news – and fulfilling my human basic needs like sleep, food, hygiene, and recreation – though the last one has been woefully neglected ever since you went public,” she told Alexander.

“It was your idea,” Alexander pointed out.

“And it was a great idea, and still is,” Angelica agreed, “but it doesn't leave me with much time for myself.”

Alexander snorted. “Don't tell me that you expected this to be a stress-free job,” he said disbelievingly.

“No. I also knew that it wouldn't be a one-person job, so I hired an intern to deal with the less touchy aspects of it.”

“Like fan fiction,” Alexander said.

“Like fan fiction,” Angelica echoed. “The intern's name is Nuru Etavase, although they prefer Pavalon.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Alexander bit his lip in contemplation. His eyes shone up with realization. “Short, vaguely Egyptian, speaks loudly all over the bullpen, once got into an argument about Oreos? That one?” he asked to ascertain. "Socializes with my intern, for reasons I have yet to fathom?"

Angelica nodded. “That one. Their official position is 'Moderator of Transformative Oeuvre'–“

“Which is just a fancy way of saying 'fan fiction moderator',” Drawwood cut in, drumming her fingers against the table to a beat she alone could hear.

“They also monitor various Tumblr blogs in search of weird activity,” Angelica went on. “They are very good at their job, so do _not_ make me fire them.”

“I have no intention of firing anyone," Alexander assured her. "And even if I did, I suspect that, in such a scenario, I would find myself in need of a new Press Secretary as well,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Your suspicions would be correct,” Angelica confirmed. “Just as you would drown in paperwork without Miss Hobbs, so I would be overwhelmed by your own fans without Pavalon.”

“And I believe that marks the end of your discussion,” James cut in smoothly, spotting several cabinet members watching the exchange between Alexander and Angelica with no small amount of amusement and/or resigned exasperation.

* * *

“Do you want to get married?” Alexander asked suddenly.

Lafayette looked up from his laptop, where he had been drafting the report on his trip to Great Britain. His eyes met Alexander's unusually intense stare. “Why _now_?” Lafayette wanted to know.

Alexander smiled sheepishly. “Well, it's just that– I mean, the gay marriage has been legal since–“

“Since you legalized it two years ago, I know,” Lafayette cut him off. “I know, _I was there_.”

“So was Anderson Cooper, but that doesn't mean that I would want to marry him, “Alexander shot back, ignoring Lafayette's pointed 'are you _sure_ about that' look. "Also, if we are being technical, I didn't legalize same-sex marriage – the Supreme Court did."

“After you had spent nearly fifteen years campaigning for it, ever since you first ran for the House,” Lafayette reminded him. “You might as well have legalized it yourself. So this has nothing at all to do with the doppelgängers you hosted last week? Nothing at all to do with Hamilton's interactions with Laurens, or the longing gazes between them?”

Alexander winced. “Maybe a little to do with that,” he conceded, “but you must know that I love you.”

“I know,” Lafayette said softly. “ _Et je t'aime aussi, mais je sais pas que ça c'est le meilleur façon de proposer à quelqu'un_.”

“Let me try again,” Alexander smiled. “My better half, my refined companion, my soulmate across the ages–“

Lafayette's laughter cut Alexander off. “Your better half? Your refined companion? Your soulmate across the ages?” he repeated. “That last one's not even true.”

“Just because we were friends the last time around, doesn't mean that we weren't soulmates,” Alexander argued.

“If anyone was your soulmate before, it was either John or Eliza.”

“And who's to say that I couldn't have had three soulmates?” Alexander challenged.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “That is the _definition_ of a soulmate,” he said slowly. “The _one_ person with whom one is fully and completely compatible.”

“I really need to introduce you to fan fiction,” Alexander muttered.

“Can you do that after I finish writing this?” Lafayette gestured at the abandoned laptop in his lap. “I'd like to get this done while the meeting is still fresh in my mind. After that, you can show me whatever you want,” he winked.

“You still haven't given me an answer,” Alexander said quietly.

“To the single most unromantic proposal ever?” Lafayette raised an eyebrow.

Alexander winced. “I do admit that I could have handled it better.”

“ _Yes_ ,” escaped Lafayette's lips before he could stop it. The genuine smile on Alexander's lips was well-worth it, though. “I love you like I haven't loved anyone in a very, very long time,” Lafayette said honestly, “and I would be honoured to marry you. On one condition,” Lafayette raised a finger, pressing it against Alexander's lips just as the other man was leaning down for a kiss.

“Yes?” Alexander mumbled around the finger.

“That you propose again, more romantically this time. I refuse to tell the story of how we were sitting on a couch and eating cheap chips. I need roses. And swans.”

“Swans it is,” Alexander smirked.

* * *

“And so Burr,” Lin spoke, a light tilt to his voice, “holding a candle to the face of the accused– well, he all but belts out, really, and this is the hilarious part, he goes–“

“Actually–“ Alexander began.

“Shush,” Chernow said. “The sober person doesn't get a say here.”

“Then why am I even here?” Alexander pouted.

Lin shrugged. “You're here to look pretty, I s'ppose,” he slurred.

Alexander frowned. “You're way past the drunk stage,” he squinted at Chernow. “Both of you,” he declared.

Lin giggled. “That's kind of the point, isn't it?”

“It's called _Drunk_ History for a reason,” Chernow added. “Sober history is what I deal with every day. This is _so much more_ _fun_.”

“Anyway…” Derek prompted. “You were saying something about Burr and a candle.”

“Oh, right!” Lin smiled stupidly. “So he thrusts the candle–“

“Wasn't it Hamilton?” Chernow frowned.

Lin bit his lip. “No, I think it was Burr,” he disagreed.

Alexander watched as the two historians, if Lin could be called that, bickered back and forth like children in what had to be the calmest argument on national television in history. The absurdity of the situation struck him, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The chuckles devolved into laughter. Alexander folded himself in half from the laughter, waving off Derek's inquiries whether he was okay.

“Guys,” Derek deadpanned, cutting Chernow off mid-sentence – or mid-slur, really, “I think you broke the president.”

* * *

“But if the policy only takes into account the physically disabled, what about–“ the reporter paused, the words lost on her tongue. She blinked. “…Did I just see the president and a news anchor run past us in Stormtrooper outfits?” she said in a voice that conveyed her hope for James' response to be a denial.

“Probably,” James dismissed it casually. “It wouldn't be the oddest thing to happen this week.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://studiocreations.deviantart.com/art/Steampunk-Abe-Lincoln-Costume-97579453) is the picture I was talking about. (Photo by Studio Creations, concept by HerrenMedia.)
> 
> Also, Kookookarli's planning a [gift exchange](http://kookookarli.tumblr.com/post/157958341435/hi-its-me-again-the-gift-exchange-during-the), in case you're interested ;)


End file.
